


And the Thunder Rolls

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Time, Fluff, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-14
Updated: 2010-07-14
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:53:16
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8741356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam used to love thunderstorms. Then, somewhere along the way, things changed. Minor spoilers for seasons 3-5.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

  
Author's notes: I sadly own nothing to do with Supernatural, all belongs to Eric Kripke and CW geniuses. The title comes from a Garth Brooks song, which I also do not own.  


* * *

Sam had always loved storms, for as long as he could remember. On a hunt, when his heart was pounding in time to the pulse of the storm and with Mother Nature putting her two cents into the fight between predator and prey. Or even further back, to when he was a kid, when it meant Dean would stay home from a hunt to “watch out” for him. He thought of himself as lightning, super quick reflexes and mind that had saved his and Dean’s skin on more than one occasion. Not to say Dean wasn’t fast, or smart, but Dean was more like thunder. He usually stayed quiet about things most important to him, but when he snapped, when his reserve broke, the backlash that came was surprising and unexpected enough to knock anyone on their ass. Nothing seemed more natural to him than storms; his whole life had been a storm if you really thought about it. From the night of his sixth month birthday and his mother died in a gale of fire and smoke, to the night he left for Stanford, when he and his dad had glanced words and blows off each other like miniatures of the giant bolts of electricity that can light up the night sky. And Dean in the middle, trying to stick them together as usual, like thunder linking one flash to the next. 

It had been storming their first time too. Sam honestly couldn’t remember how they’d gotten to that point, after dancing around each other for the previous 2 years, remembering thoughts and feelings forgotten before Sam left. Maybe it was the fact that Dean only had a year left on the clock that finally knocked it into their heads that this was it, their last chance, but maybe that situation was just the icing on a cake of sexual tension. But even if Sam couldn’t remember the series of events leading up to the feature presentation, it sure as hell didn’t mean he’d forgotten the act itself. Another random cheap motel room, with the usual small room cramped with the usual crappy furniture, but what Sam remembered most about that night was what the storm had added. The flashes of light throwing slatted shadows across Dean’s skin as he’d leaned over Sam. The way peals of thunder always seemed to wait until after Dean was done talking, punctuating the endearments and encouragements, the suggestions and smut that fell from his mouth. Sam couldn’t remember what he’d said to Dean, if what he’d said had been lost in the storm or if he’d said anything at all. But he remembered the part that really mattered; the connection they’d finally forged. The morning after, it was Dean’s turn to storm, in his usual simmering way. Sam had known; the same way you know what’s coming after a few days of hot, humid weather in the summer. So he did what he had hoped would work best; he’d told Dean straight up, no frills or muss that he didn’t have a problem with what had happened, and if Dean did well that was too damn bad. Of course the only way to get Dean to sit through a “chick flick moment” was to pretty much tie him to the only chair in the motel room but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. And after that, the transition from brother to brother/lover had been fairly smooth according to Winchester standards. Smoother than the fateful move to California, to be sure. 

There had been other storms of course. The night Lilith collected Dean’s deal Sam had felt as though a tempest had ripped him apart from the inside out and flayed him raw. The drinks and the hunts had soothed his howling soul and lashing tears to a barely tolerable level, but nothing had been right until the night Bobby and Dean had come to the hotel room. After that Sam hadn’t liked storms as much. Then the argument between them before Sam went to the convent with Ruby. That had left both brothers, and the room, looking as if a tornado had swept through. Nothing had been the same since. Sure, they had tried, but Sam had never been one to sleep with someone without love and trust, and while he knew Dean loved him, and always would, he also knew that what little trust was left between them was tenuous at best and not something to take a chance on. So they’d gone back to the dance of the first 2 years as if nothing else had happened. But Sam had remembered, of course he had. Dean seemed to want to pretend, so Sam pretended. That’s the way it worked. 

The worst was the day after he’d said yes to Lucifer. Not seeing what they’d done to everyone in his past that had pushed and prodded him onto the path that had led him here, no, that he could deal with. What scared, no terrified Sam, was the storm he saw raging in Dean’s eyes as he leaned against the Impala, beaten and bloody, as Sam finally regained himself and prepared to jump into the pit. Dean had the best poker face that Sam had ever seen, but that day it had been stripped from him, just as his hope had been. And Hell; nothing could have prepared Sam for that. Not all the hours he’d spent pouring over books and research he’d done before Dean’s deal, not even what Dean had told him (or what he’d forced Dean to tell him) after coming back from his own trip downstairs. The screams and cries of the damned, the cackles and snarls of their tormentors; the smell of smoke, sulphur and brimstone; the sights that could not ever be described using any language on Earth. No, Sam didn’t like storms anymore; he hated them with a passion now. They brought pain and destruction. 

Then Sam was out. He hadn’t had to crawl out of his own grave, like Dean, he was suddenly just standing on a street-corner in Lawrence, where it had all began. But still, the storm inside him raged. How was he out? Who had rescued him? Was it the same person that had gotten him and Dean out of the convent the year before? Was that God? What had happened to Adam? Sam knew he could do just about anything, no one knew he’d escaped; he could go back to school if he’d really wanted to. But suddenly the apple pie life with white picket fence and 2.5 kids didn’t hold any appeal for him anymore. He was a hunter, through and through. But, before he could return to finding the things that go bump in the night and bumping them right back, he had to find Dean. He hitched, and he walked, and he “borrowed” but finally Sam made it to Cicero, Indiana just as the thunder started to roll. By the time he’d found his way to Lisa’s the clouds had opened up and begun to drench him. But, watching Dean through the living room window, watching him listen intently to Ben and then throw his head back and laugh Sam didn’t feel the chill of rain. Instead he felt the cracking reverberations inside him subside into a soothing rumble that heralded the end of a storm, the one that signalled that the sun would come out again. No, he wouldn’t look for Dean again, wouldn't hold him ever again, but that was okay. Dean was happy. That was all that mattered. 


End file.
